


Okaerinasai

by foxinthestars



Series: Fox in the Stars' further adventures of Seta Soujiro [2]
Category: Rurouni Kenshin
Genre: Blanket Permission, Gen, One Shot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-01-07
Updated: 2011-01-07
Packaged: 2017-10-14 13:18:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,741
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/149600
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/foxinthestars/pseuds/foxinthestars
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Soujiro returns to his childhood home.  (Old work under an old pen-name.)  This is the second of the one-shots that comprise the "Winter Arc" of my Soujiro fanfic.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Okaerinasai

**Author's Note:**

> Anyone who wants to use my work as a basis for their own fanfic, fanart, podfic, translation, etc. has my permission to do so. Just credit me as appropriate.

Okaerinasai

"Welcome Home"

Rurouni Kenshin Fanfiction  
by Half-Esper Laura, 1999

*

Soujiro didn’t know how long he’d been standing there, in front of the gate. He didn’t think he was waiting for something to happen, and even if he was, he didn’t know what it would be. A few minutes before, a woman had gone in, and he had moved aside and turned his head so that he wouldn’t see inside. He imagined that he was waiting until he decided what to do, but he wasn’t thinking about what to do at all.

It didn’t really matter. He could stay here all day and all night and that would be fine. The wind was blowing through the trees, which cast long late-afternoon shadows, and he could wonder at the subtle change in the music the leaves made since the first time he had noticed. It was gradually becoming a dryer, crisper sound as autumn drew nearer. The stones in the wall were endlessly rough, yet worn beyond the point of feeling scratchy to the touch, and although the grass was becoming dry along with the leaves, it still felt cool where it touched his feet, even through the tabi* if he paid attention to it. That would be enough to stay for and never get tired of it, even if it was a week or a month before he felt ready to open that gate.

But no matter how he felt, not even Seta Soujiro lived in a world all to himself. The gate opened and a young, round-faced man looked out. “May I help you, sir?”

“No, not really,” he said. Even the slight view through the door felt like looking at a beast through the bars of a cage, knowing how much safer it was to be on the other side.

“It’s just that my wife saw you standing here by the door. Do you have some business with us?”

“No. But... do you live here?”

“Sir, if there isn’t anything you need, I’d appreciate it if you’d leave.”

Soujiro paused. He was tempted to leave, to stay on this side of the gate. It had been hard enough, just seeing the well again. He’d been hot and thirsty when he got to it, but he couldn’t stand to get water out of it. It didn’t make any sense to him because the reason he couldn’t stand it was that he’d done it so many times before and knew how good the water tasted when he’d been thirsty, how cold and sweet it felt when he’d been hot and tired, or on sore bruises... How much more oppressive would it be, walking through this gate back into his childhood home? He even started to take a step back, but he caught himself as the man started to close the door. He’d come here for a reason...

“Wait!”

“Hm?”

“Well, I... I just wanted to see this place again,” he said. “Because I used to live here, that is. I know I’m a stranger, but I’d appreciate it if you would let me come in for a little bit...”

“Oh. Well, okay.” The man swung the door open.

“Thank you,” Soujiro said with a slight bow, then came in. He closed his eyes as he walked through the gate and then opened them cautiously, as one would in bright lights. It didn’t look quite the way he remembered it; things had been refitted and repainted, and the images of this house were so burned into his mind that he noticed how having grown taller made it all look different, but the feeling of being here was unmistakable. How could he think that feeling would have left this place, when he wasn’t sure he would ever be free of it no matter how far he travelled?

“So, you must have been related to the Seta family, then,” the man realized.

“Eh? Well, I wasn’t really family, but I stayed here a lot.” He walked over to the old rice-warehouse and stooped to look under it, cautiously, as if he might still be under there somehow, or the short sword might be.

“It’s pretty horrible about that,” the man said. “We didn’t come to town until years later, but when we moved in here, everyone was telling us about what happened to them, said it’d haunt us if we lived here.”

“Has it?” Soujiro asked sincerely.

“No, not really. Every great now and again I get this creepy feeling if I think ‘maybe the spot where I’m sitting right now is where somebody died,’ but not usually.”

“It was here that it happened,” Soujiro said. “Out here by the warehouse.” He remembered when he’d come out from under that warehouse, the short sword already striped with trailing drops of blood, but that had only been the beginning... He remembered standing under that tree, facing away... He remembered everything about it with photographic accuracy, surreal in its detail, like a dream that had never faded, not even when he had awakened after dreaming so long... He remembered enough to place his feet just where they had been then, so many years ago. And then he’d turned his head and looked up, with a smile on his face because that smile was all he had left, perhaps all he had ever had...

“Are you all right, sir?”

This time he was looking up at the young host, and a chill of dread ran through him, that he might not be able to stop reliving the dream and that this ground might be watered with blood again. But he only stood there, with tears coming to his eyes. He couldn’t give the feeling a name. He wasn’t exactly sad, or frightened, or angry, not even guilty exactly, or not only that. But still, his heart was pounding, and he felt as if he were choking on his tears.

The man walked over to him and took him gently by the arm. His hand was warm and soft-solid, a sensation Soujiro appreciated as much as the sound of the wind in the leaves, but he still felt himself tighten defensively. _I could kill him if I wanted; I’m stronger, I don’t have to let him hurt me._ He still thought things like that with the deep parts of his mind. _Life is still survival of the fittest, eh? But... I’m glad this person lives here now. I don’t want him to die. But myself... Even though I’m strong, I wouldn’t mind it so much if I died. Even that would be all right._

Soujiro let the man lead him by the arm, but he steered off in a wide circle, around the ground that had had blood on it years ago. He also had that “creepy” feeling, like if he stepped on the spot where one of them had died, then he would feel it somehow, like then something terrible would happen to him...

“Why don’t we go back to the house and have tea? To be this sad after ten years... It must have been a horrible loss for you.”

Soujiro paused. “No, it wasn’t, really.” If the ghosts were still at this spot, maybe they would hear him, but that was all right. They should hear it, although saying it hurt as much as drawing something out of a wound. “I’d never stay here with them again, not even if I had to die, because they were so terrible to me, and I never want to live like that again. But sometimes, even though I’d never stay with them again, I feel like it would be nice if they still lived here. That is, I’m really happy you’re living here, but sometimes I think it would be nice if they were still here, and I could look in on them without them seeing me and know that they were still here...”

The man didn’t say anything. Soujiro certainly couldn’t blame him for not knowing what to say. They were getting close to the house now, and the woman who’d come in through the gate earlier was standing on the porch, carrying a very young boy on her hip. “Yasuo, who is this?”

“He used to live here, with the Seta family,” the man said. “He just needed to see the place again. Could you make us some tea, honey?”

Hesitantly, the woman agreed and carried the child back inside. Yasuo led Soujiro inside and offered him a place on a zabuton*.

Soujiro looked around at the house; it looked different than it had when he was a child, but not so much. He found it strange to be a guest, having lived there before. There had always been places he couldn’t go-his adoptive father would have beaten him soundly if he’d caught Soujiro in his bedroom, he was certain-but now he shouldn’t presume to go anywhere in the house he wasn’t specifically invited. In a way, though, that was a good thing. He couldn’t go into the kitchen, but he didn’t especially want to. His clearest memory of that place was scrubbing the floor while seeing spots which had gotten larger as he went until he couldn’t see anything; halfway through he’d fainted on the floor and spilled water everywhere, which made everyone so angry when they found it in the morning. Right now, sitting here, he could hear the young wife making tea in there, and the little boy begging her for something to eat before dinner. Before long, she brought the tea in, set it down in front of her husband, and sat beside him, scooping her son up onto her lap.

“Nice weather we’ve been having lately,” Yasuo said, pouring the tea.

“Yes. I’ve been travelling a lot lately, so I’ve enjoyed the good weather very much.”

“Is that so? What sort of places have you been?”

“A lot of different places. I came here from Kyoto, but I’ve just been wandering around.”

“Ah, Kyoto! I’ve been there once or twice. It’s a beautiful city.”

“I think so.” Suddenly, Soujiro found himself wanting to go back to Kyoto. He remembered seeing it so many times and feeling nothing; he wanted to see it again, just to admire it. He could picture the Kyoto skyline in his mind, but he knew that being there would be different. The feeling struck him as ironic, since if Shishio had gotten everything he wanted, Soujiro would have helped him burn that city to the ground. So many things had happened there, maybe it would be hard to go back, but if he could come back here, where couldn’t he go? Of course, the police would probably expect him in Kyoto. Not that they could catch him if he didn’t let them, but still a nuisance...

“Um, excuse me,” Yasuo’s wife said. “I was curious about something, since you knew the previous owners of this house. A few years ago a woman came here and asked about her son, who she said the Seta family had adopted. It was sad, having to tell her what happened... I wondered if you might know her.”

Soujiro took the next swallow of tea very deliberately. “I don’t know,” he lied. _I know I was the only one who was adopted._ He remembered his mother only vaguely, but for all his adoptive parents said “We put clothes on your back and fed you; you should be grateful to us,” he preferred his mother. He could remember wearing rags and going hungry when he lived with her, but he could also remember being held warmly and gently and being told “ _I love you_.” Just vaguely, like holding onto the last bits of a dream that fled from him as he woke, he could remember it. His adoptive parents had called his mother “a cheap whore,” and what little he remembered made some case for that being literally true, but he remembered her as kind and beautiful. Yumi had always reminded him of her somehow. He could remember crying when she left him behind in this house, remember her saying “now you be good for me.” _‘Having to tell her what happened’...? Did they tell her what I was like?_ His face felt hot; he was sure that he was turning red, and the idea that they might see through him only made it worse. _Are they going to know who I am?_ Nothing in their faces showed it if they did. Maybe this would be a chance to find out something he didn’t remember... “What was her name?”

There was a pause. “I don’t remember,” Yasuo admitted, and turned to his wife. “Do you?”

“Let me see... I want to say Suzuki Akane, but I don’t know if that’s right.”

Soujiro’s heart didn’t know whether to stop or swell with joy, and it gave him an odd feeling. It sounded familiar; it sounded right. “Well, I don’t know anyone named Akane. Did she say where she was from?”

The young couple glanced at each other. “No, I don’t think so,” Yasuo said.

He nodded. It was so exciting, having this clue, a hope of finding his mother. When he was outside, walking alone from place to place, he felt happy, but the thought of not being alone, of having someone he belonged with, of finding the rest of that barely-remembered dream... But what if they had told her what had happened? What if she knew what he’d done? All of it, or even just a little would be enough... The thought of that vaguely-remembered, kind, beautiful woman saying “I’m so disappointed in you”... Fear was not something he quite understood, but he felt driven never to hear that. He thought of asking Yasuo and his wife “what happened?” but he didn’t want to impose on them, and he didn’t want to go through the trouble of being found out... So he just drank the last of the tea and stood with a bow. “The tea is very good, but I have to be going now. Thank you very much for your hospitality.”

“Oh, it’s no trouble,” Yasuo said, getting up and walking him to the gate. “Please, come again sometime.”

Soujiro thanked him again and said “goodbye” at the gate, although as it closed behind him, he knew the man had only invited him back out of politeness. He wouldn’t actually go there again. Maybe this one last time was enough, and he would never want to go back to that house again. He hoped so, for no reason he could think of, but had no way of knowing.

He walked back up the path to the town, at a very relaxed pace, until he reached the main street with shops and houses lined up to either side. Occasionally in the milling crowd he saw people he half-recognized, and felt a little tense, wondering if they might recognize him, too. But it had been years ago, and he knew how to walk away into a crowd and not be noticed. He found himself wanting to leave this town as soon as he could, leave and never come back. But maybe that was all the more reason to think of anything he might want to do here and do it all now. After all, something was left undone. He came here to put things to rest, but now there was that restless question: what did they tell his mother? Surely no one here knew who Shishio Makoto was or more than trivial examples of what he’d done. The Meiji government wouldn’t admit that it had been challenged so, but Tenken no Soujiro was still widely known as a criminal. He’d seen his own face on wanted posters more than once in the last few months, but no one ever seemed to make the connection, not even when he was standing there looking at one. At any rate however, it probably wouldn’t take much for the police to realize where Shishio had met him. Probably these people knew all about what he’d become.

That thought was the final straw, and he started heading for the road that would take him out of the town. He enjoyed being a stranger, he realized. When he had said that he wished his family were still here, and that he could look in on them without being seen, it had been something of what he was like generally. Even in the years with Shishio, there was something enjoyable about walking around, with no one even suspecting who he was or that he could kill them before they even knew something was happening if he wanted to, like a child who smiles and says “I’ve got a secret.” He liked looking at people from a distance, seeing children shopping in town with affectionate parents and grandparents, young couples, groups of friends... He liked looking at them and not being part of them, not being seen, not being known. It was safer that way, he supposed. Still, he could imagine telling a total stranger “You’ve heard of Tenken no Soujiro? Well, that’s me,” and the thought made him laugh, if it was any town but this one. But here, these people weren’t total strangers; they where the ones who had known him as a child, gossiped about his parentage, the doctor’s wife who had first told him he had such a sweet smile... He couldn’t bear to think of them knowing how that boy had killed uncountable people with no feeling at all to give him pause before or trouble him after.

He picked a road that not many people used. He wasn’t hidden in a crowd there, but a town is the people; it was like being out of it that much sooner. The gate in the outside wall of the town was getting closer and closer...

“Excuse me!”

He looked around. There was an old woman there, with some flowers in her hand, on a wide adjoining street where funeral monuments lined the inside of the town wall. She was the one who had called out, and he didn’t see anyone else. She must be talking to him. Maybe if he just kept walking and pretended not to hear...

“Excuse me, sir, could you help me?”

Without totally knowing why, he stopped at that and walked over to her. _The gate going out is right here. If something bad happens, I’ll be gone before anyone would know..._ He glanced at the names on the memorial stones as he passed by them. Iwata... Tanabe... Kuroda...

_Seta._

It felt like a flinch of pain as the old woman spoke just then and he turned to her. “It takes so long for me to find the names by myself, could you be so kind as to show me where the Setas are?” she asked, coming up quite close to him.

He couldn’t answer her at all for a moment, and when he did, he just said “right here” in a quiet voice and pointed without looking. His heart suddenly felt as if it were made of iron inside of him, so cold, so heavy as to drag him down...

He didn’t quite give a start as the woman touched his outstretched hand, then started off in the direction he was pointing. It wasn’t until she knelt down and traced the name on one of the stones with her fingers that he understood-she was blind. “It’s two more to your right,” he said. _What’s wrong with me? I should’ve known that from the moment I saw her. If Shishio-san saw this he’d laugh at me. I’m really going to pieces..._

And yet, people would say he was “right” now where he hadn’t been before. As for himself, at moments like this it seemed that all he’d gained were tears and regrets. After ten years without crying, he’d found himself making up for lost time. Everything he’d known in his entire life was gone, Shishio and Yumi were dead, everything he owned had burned to ashes-he hadn’t been attached to any of his posessions, but suddenly he wanted to cry because they were gone. _Himura-san... Why did he have to do this to me?_ But he blamed himself as well. Although he almost wished that he’d been left as he was, he could hardly believe how stupid he’d been then, too stupid to have said to Shishio “Thank you for saving me and teaching me; I’m proud to be your student,” or said to Yumi “I like you; you remind me of my mother,” or said any number of times “I never really wanted to kill anyone.” He thought maybe it was shame, that horrible feeling he got when he thought back on everything he’d done because he’d been too stupid even to say “I don’t want to.” But then, he hadn’t been proud; he hadn’t liked Yumi in any particular way, and he hadn’t cared who he killed, and he’d known that when it was over he would be happy. It was only now that he was realizing the difference, when it was too late for anything to change it or make it better. He wished he could go back and do it all over from the beginning, be born over again into a real family who loved him like all the children he saw in towns with their parents. Maybe then he wouldn’t have turned out so stupid. _But then I guess it wouldn’t be me anymore, I’d be so different..._

"Here you are,” the old woman was saying softly, arranging the flowers with her knobby hands. Soujiro took a ragged breath and she turned toward him. “Is something wrong?”

He couldn’t answer. He was crying again, this time too much to talk, and just stood there trying to think of what to do. _I want to run away... But if I ran away then I’d just be alone. It wouldn’t make this feeling go away. I want something to make it go away. I want something to make it better..._

The old woman put her hand on his shoulder; the leathery skin of her palm just touched his neck and his cheek. He wasn’t sure he liked that, but she needed to touch him to “see” him, so he let her. “Is one of these someone you know?” she asked.

That was only the slightest part of the problem, but it was true, so he nodded.

“I know it’s hard. I lost my husband a few years ago, and I didn’t know what to do for so long... But I guess in the end I realized you can’t bring people back, you just have to find the best parts of them to take with you.”

“Take with you...?” he asked, still sobbing. “I don’t understand.”

“Come on with me and I’ll buy you dinner. It’s about that time, I think. We can talk about it, and everything looks better after some of Chiyo’s noodles.”

“You don’t know me.” The way she was acting was a bit disconcerting to him. Just minutes ago, he had thought about how he enjoyed being a stranger, being uninvolved, yet he was a stranger to this woman and she wasn’t content to leave him in the safety of the outside.

“I’m an old woman,” she said. “If you wanted to rob me, you’d have a lot more years to enjoy what you took than I do, and as for buying you dinner, my husband was the town doctor, so he left me a bit of money and I don’t have forever to enjoy it.”

“You... You were the doctor’s wife...?”

“Mm hm.” He let her take him by the hand and lead him where she wanted to go.

He could even recognize her now, although she’d aged so much in ten years. He whimsically wondered if she was some sort of combat master herself, that she could keep him from reading her at all, and it almost made him smile. He had tried very hard to fit in with his deceased father’s family when his mother had left him there, but there had come a point of thinking he couldn’t take it anymore, and trying to run away so many times he’d lost count of them, but always ending up back there somehow. Once it had been after he was hit so hard he thought it would hurt for the rest of his life, and he’d been in the forest around the town when he hadn’t fallen asleep, but had just stopped because he couldn’t go any further, and when he had awakened, he had been in the doctor’s house. He had stayed there for quite some time, resting and eating and being looked after, and even getting to play with a toy, the only one he could remember having as a child, and it had seemed that his family were the only people who never came to see him. This woman had been there all the time, saying “You’re such a good little patient.” “You have such a sweet smile.” And sometimes, with a more sorrowful tone, “How could anyone hurt a child with a smile like this?” But in the end, when he was declared “recovered,” she had taken him back herself, to what was now Yasuo’s house, and left him there even though he cried as hard as he could, like when his mother had left him there...

He sat down beside her when they reached the noodle stand and let her order him dinner. He was doing his best to be invisible, and she wasn’t making it easy. “My new friend seems to have backed into his shell,” she said, and the shopgirl laughed, “Isn’t he a bit young for you, Obaa-san*?” Soujiro knew he should eat, if only to make his money last longer by taking advantage of free food, but he didn’t feel hungry at all. _Why was I so indecisive? I should leave here; that was what I decided to do..._

“Really, Obaa-san,” the girl whispered, underestimating just how observant he was, “you can’t just invite strangers in these days. What do you know about this boy?”

“I’ve kept my household through worse times than these, and I’ll do as I like. My husband treated his share of people who just wanted to take advantage, and he never had any regrets even so.”

“But an old woman alone in the house with a stranger... Bad things can happen. I just say this because I’m worried about you.”

“Don’t worry. I have a good feeling. Besides, I’m a lot older and a lot more stubborn than you.”

“Okay, okay...” the girl said, moving on to another customer.

“Not hungry, eh?” the old woman asked, turning to Soujiro. “Ready to leave?”

“Well, I was meaning to leave this town, so I should probably go ahead and go...”

“Oh, come now. It’ll be dark long before you reach another town, and I’ve got a house with lots of rooms. Besides, I fed you or at least tried. The least you can do is tell me some stories about your travels.”

“How did you know?”

“Everyone’s calling you a stranger, and you smell like outdoor air.”

“Is that so?”

She nodded. “So, how about it?”

“Um... okay...” Soujiro didn’t quite know why he was agreeing. He didn’t want to spend the night in this town, but he was tired, and sleeping out beside the road somewhere wasn’t terribly appealing, either.

“Well, come on then.” She set off toward her house, and he fell into step behind her. “So, what’s your name?”

“Ah...” What was he supposed to say? He couldn’t tell her who he was... “Um... Souji.” _Okay, that was pretty dumb..._

“Ah, that’s nice. My name’s Kameko. And this...” she stopped by a door and touched the doorframe. “This is my house.” She opened the door. “Come in, make yourself at home.”

As he stepped across the threshold, he remembered this house, too, although not as clearly as Yasuo’s house. He thought he could probably find the room where the doctor had had him resting and recovering from he-didn’t-remember-what. Despite feeling so tired and sick, he’d been thrilled, having his own room. He’d secretly dreamed that what was wrong with him was some chronic and incurable disease so he could stay forever. “Um... Kameko-san,” he asked. “Why did you invite me here? Since I’m a stranger, you know.”

“Honestly? I’m lonely and shameless.” She was getting ahead of him, down the hallway flanked by what had been patients’ rooms and into where she and the doctor had lived.

He took his time following her, looking into all the rooms, which were darkened in the evening light. _Which one was it...?_ He looked in cautiously, as he had under the warehouse, as if afraid he might look in one of the rooms and find himself still there. As if one of these days he’d find where he left himself.

“You can sleep in any of those rooms tonight,” she said, then paused. “Are you looking for something?”

“Um, I actually lived in this town, when I was small,” he said. He knew he was pressing his luck, but somehow he didn’t care. _It’s not as if there’s anything here for me to be afraid of._ “I stayed here for awhile when I was hurt once.”

“Ah! See, you’re not a stranger after all. Come on in and have a seat.”

He followed her into her own rooms and sat down on another zabuton. He was taking a lot of guest seats today; it had been awhile since he had.

“So, is there anything I can get you, or should we just talk?”

He considered it as if it were a momentous decision, but ignored all the logical arguments of his mind. There was a tension of risk, but no fear to keep him from pressing his luck even further. “Well, since I can remember staying here, I was wondering if you still had the toy you lent me when I was little. It would just be nice to see again, you know.”

“Oh, probably we do. I don’t think we ever threw a toy away after our own children grew up,” Kameko said. “What was it?”

“A little horse...”

“Oh, yes, I know that one,” she disappeared into a back room for a moment and returned with the toy.

“Yes, that’s it.” He was surprised at how he felt, seeing it again, somehow happy and a little bit sad at once. It was a simple enough thing; two horse-shaped pieces of calico stitched together with a gusset in the bottom to make four separate legs, stuffed with rice husks. They’d been ground up inside it with handling, and the head and legs were limp. He remembered that was a good thing for the legs, though. When he held it up with the feet just barely touching the floor and shook it back and forth, it looked like it was running.

“Oh, it’s so dusty,” Kameko said, brushing it off on her kimono. “I’m probably lucky I can’t see all the dirt around this place. This fellow’s been on the shelf for years and years, ever since we got him down from the attic for......”

The rice-husk stuffing made a _paff_ sound when the calico horse hit the floor. “Sou... Sou-chan...?”

 _Well, I’ve done it now. It’s not as if this old woman could do anything to me._ But his heart suddenly felt tight and heavy, and he tensed and didn’t say anything.

Kameko knelt down on the bare floor beside him and put her hands to his face incredulously. “Sou-chan? Is this really you?”

“...Yes.”

“Ohh!” Tears ran from Kameko’s eyes, and she took his hand and hugged it as if it were a child’s toy also.

Soujiro edged away from her. So this was how it felt, having to present himself to someone who wasn’t a stranger... He thought this feeling must be shame-in fact it was a lot like how the memories of all the killing he’d done made him feel. “Please, I really have to go.”

“No, please don’t go yet,” she pleaded. “Sou-chan, please. Please, say you forgive me.”

He paused, not understanding. “...Forgive you?”

“Please... I... I thought that because I was an adult, that I knew what was best for you, but... I did a horrible thing to you because I wouldn’t listen, I wouldn’t believe that you knew what was best for you when you didn’t want to go home... I’m sorry, I’m being selfish. But, I thought, maybe something like that would be a reason why someone would come back. That is... someone who died...”

“‘Someone who died’?” Soujiro echoed.

Kameko forced a small laugh. “I know, it’s surprising to me, too. I guess since I was a girl, I never quite stopped believing in ghosts, and well... here you are. Did you like the flowers, I hope? They were for you.”

So when he’d met Kameko, it was his own grave she had been looking for? He felt his eyes start to ache with tears, but he couldn’t help but smile with happiness and relief. So although there was no body for the police to find, it must have been thought that he died with everyone else... No one here knew what he’d done. Wherever his mother was, she believed that he was dead. The weight of the day’s apprehensions lifted from his mind. It sounded so tragic, but it was so much better that they should all think that...

“Yes, they were very nice, thank you. I... I didn’t really think anyone would remember me, since I was just...”

“Don’t talk like that!” Kameko said. “It doesn’t matter who your parents were or any such thing. You were a good, sweet child and you deserved a chance at making a life for yourself. I didn’t know what would happen, but it’s still no excuse because I knew you were just going to get hurt if I gave you back to your family. I knew they wouldn’t give you a chance, but I did it anyway because I was ‘supposed to’...”

“Don’t worry about it,” Soujiro said with a nonchalant smile. He didn’t want her to cry; he wanted to make her feel better, but he didn’t know what to say. “It’s not your fault. I guess it was just natural, I mean, since I wasn’t real family, and I was weak and had to depend on them...”

“There’s nothing natural about hurting a little child!” Kameko cried. “It’s the saddest thing of all if that’s what you died thinking. It’s natural for children to trust adults, and for adults to take care of children until they grow up and find their own strengths. Even if there isn’t blood between them. I didn’t want to take you back. I wanted to keep you with me and take care of you, and maybe that’s what makes what I did worst, that I hurt both of us so I could do that wrong thing... Just, please, it would make me so much happier, if you would say you forgive me... Please...” She lowered her head.

He paused, and the smile fell from his face. It was true; if Kameko had listened to him back then, he could have stayed here and been cared for with love. That was what he wished had happened, wasn’t it? _But then it wouldn’t be me anymore, I’d be so different..._ And even if he was angry, it wasn’t enough that he would want to make her cry.

Even he didn’t expect his voice to sound so serious as he answered her. “Yes, I forgive you.”

“Thank you...” she said. There was a long silence; she was still holding Soujiro’s hand, and slowly she put it back in his lap. “You can still stay here tonight, if you want to, but I know that when I wake up in the morning you won’t be here...”

“No, I won’t. But for tonight, I’m glad I came back.”

**********

Since he’d said that, Soujiro got up when the night sky was just beginning to lighten toward morning and picked up his pack. The toy horse was still laying on the floor where Kameko had dropped it, and he picked it up and tucked it in his sleeve*. He thought he would like to have it, and he was sure Kameko wouldn’t mind. Maybe when she found it missing, it would be her proof that this hadn’t been a dream. She’d stayed up later than he had, so he didn’t know where she’d gone to sleep, but he left the house as quietly as he could without looking for her.

He hadn’t had a drink of water since early the day before, and when he got to the well, he hesitated for a long moment, but finally he drew up some water and drank deeply from it. Despite himself, he enjoyed the sweet cold feeling of it and rinsed his hands and face with it also. “So, I guess now we’ll be leaving off on good terms, hm?” he said to the well, as if it could hear him. Who knew, maybe this well had a god of its own.

He walked down the quiet, empty streets with a smile on his face, happy to be going to find out where the day was going to take him. Taking the route he had when he’d met Kameko the night before, he paused just short of the gate and walked down the row of tombstones, looking at the ground, not at the names, until he came across the flowers. They weren’t especially beautiful flowers, just branching green stems scattered with small, daisy-like blossoms, but he liked them very much. He knelt down in front of the small memorial stone and picked one up before looking up at the name.

_Seta Soujiro._

He smiled at the irony, but he felt like crying also. Maybe someday he’d figure out how he could be happy and sad both at once. It wasn’t so untrue, really, to say that this child had died with everyone else that night... “Well, I guess I miss you the most, after all,” he said. Even when he wished he could go back and pick up his life where he left that child behind and live in a different way, he couldn’t change it. “Kameko said you can’t bring anyone back, and I guess I can’t bring you back, either. She said I should take you with me, but I forgot to ask what she meant... Maybe it’ll be more fun to figure it out ourselves, hm? I won’t come back here anymore, but I think I can find you.”

He thought about leaving the toy horse there but decided he wanted to keep it, and he held onto the stem of flowers because that way he wouldn’t forget to think about it. After a moment, he rose and bowed. “Well, then, I hope things go well for you.”

When he walked out the town gate, he met the rose tint just starting to touch the edge of the lightening sky. He could use that to point himself north; there wasn’t any real reason to go north, it just seemed like a good idea. He was a bit tired from waking up so early, but the feeling of the predawn air was beautiful, both heavy and light at once, like nothing he could think of, and he was happy to be out in it as he set off down the road with the flowers in his hand.

_Owari*_

Definitions:

Tabi: traditional Japanese split-toed “socks” sewn from lined woven fabric.

Zabuton: A piece of Japanese furniture; a cushion placed on the floor to kneel or sit on.

Obaa-san: Literally means “grandmother”; can also be used to address any elderly woman.

Just a note on Soujiro putting something in his sleeve: Traditional men’s kimono sleeves are wide with a square bottom, so they can act as pockets.

Owari: “The End”

Also, as a random note, after looking at episode guides and such, I don’t know if Soujiro’s adoptive family had the surname “Seta.” This was never mentioned in the episodes however; it seems plausible enough and it’s fairly important to my story, so it’s staying here.


End file.
